Mollys Kitchen
by luvscharlie
Summary: The things that happen in Molly's kitchen displease her… greatly. Ron/Harry


_Molly's Kitchen_ by Luvscharlie

Balancing his unwieldy bags and trying to keep his glasses on his face (he honestly didn't think they'd survive another _Reparo_, even from Hermione), Harry struggled through the door of the Burrow.

Ron never looked up. "Did you get my owl?"

"Yes, I got your bloody owl. What could you possibly need all of this stuff for?" Harry dropped one of the bags on his toe in his attempt to set them on the counter. Only that seemed to get Ron's attention.

"That had best not be the bags with the eggs in it."

"My toe is fine. Thank you for your concern," Harry said, hopping over to a chair so he could inspect his injured digits. "You didn't answer my question. What do you need all of this stuff for?"

Ron looked at him as though he had sprouted an extra head. "To make Hermione's birthday cake, of course."

"Of course." Not even Ron could miss the sarcasm dripping from his lips… he didn't think. "Because you bake so often in your mother's kitchen." That earned him a glare admittedly, well deserved. Craning his neck toward the staircase, Harry asked, "Where is your mother, by the way?"

"She and Dad have gone out for the night. We'll be having Hermione's birthday dinner here."

"I don't suppose you informed her that you would be cooking in her kitchen?"

"You don't cook cakes, you bake them, and no, I did not." Ron broke two eggs into the mixing bowl and dumped in a good bit of flour that blew a puff of white powder back into his face.

"You realise you were supposed to measure that, right?"

"I did. That looked like two cups to me." Ron chucked the eggshells in the rubbish bin.

"Which cups?" Harry asked.

"The ones I drink tea out of at our flat every morning." Ron shook his head, as though shrugging off Harry's absurd questions the same as he would an annoying insect.

Harry's stomach rumbled; it had been a good while since lunch. He looked upon Ron's cooking venture with trepidation. "Are you making dinner too?" he asked.

"No, they're Flooing us take away from the Leaky Cauldron later. Hermione's has a weak spot for Tom's fish and chips, you know?"

True enough, she did. Harry's stomach was ever so glad it would be Tom's cooking that filled it that evening rather than Ron's _attempt_ at cooking. Ron's intentions were good, granted, and Hermione would love the gesture … if it didn't kill her (she always did when he or Ron made an attempt at "hand-making" something for her, something about the thought that counts and all that stuff birds like… hogwash, if you asked him… funny, she never did, ask him that is).

Harry was perhaps a bit dramatic in this notion, but the last time Ron attempted to cook was quite the disaster. Ron had been forever banned from his mother's kitchen after the last episode, which involved a very amorous Charlie and things Harry was forever sworn to secrecy about.

The things that had happened in Molly's kitchen were things even the best _Obliviate_ would not banish. How was he to know that Ron had used one of the main ingredients for Amortentia when baking Christmas biscuits? The biscuits actually weren't half bad, and it was rather unfair of Molly to blame Ron when he certainly hadn't known that Charlie would be home on holiday or that Percy would be there at that exact moment that Charlie ate the biscuit… and well, there are things a mother should never know about her sons… poor woman, had seen things happen in her kitchen that had nothing to do with baking… though Harry was forced to admit that it was quite hot.

He shook his head in an attempt to shake free the thoughts of proper Percy bent over Molly's kitchen table and… he shook his head again as his cock stiffened at the memory. This wasn't helping anything… nor was the way Ron's jeans tightened over his bum as he moved around the kitchen.

Harry noted that Ron looked studious with his wand tucked behind his ear as he leaned over a Muggle cookbook. Humming as he rummaged through the bags Harry had brought from market his brows furrowed. "Where's the coconut?"

Harry reached into the bag that had landed on his toe earlier and pulled out a large coconut.

"Harry, that's not—"

"Well, you should have been specific. You never told me you wanted coconut to bake a cake with, did you?"

Shooting him a glare, Ron began to search the cupboards. "I'll have to improvise."

"Like you improvised for the Christmas biscuits?"

"That's unfair and you know it!" Ron uttered in his own defense. "It smelled like chocolate."

"It was clear, you dunderhead. Amortentia smells like what you like, and it's not as if your affection for chocolate is any secret. When have you ever seen clear chocolate?" Harry stood and started going through the cupboards as well. "What are we looking for anyway?"

Hand on hip, Ron turned on him. "First of all, I have seen clear chocolate in George's shop. Secondly, we're looking for chocolate…" His voice trailed away and Harry heard him mutter under his breath, "The dark kind, you prat."

After an extensive search of the kitchen, they were little better off than when they started.

"I found four boxes of Honeydukes' chocolate and that's it," Harry said, trying to extract a cobweb from his hair as he crawled out from beneath the kitchen sink. "I don't see how those will do us much good."

Ron snarled his nose. "Honestly, hero to the wizarding world and all that aside, you're not all that bright mate. If I didn't know better, I'd think you were a Muggle with a wand for decorative purposes. Are you a wizard or aren't you?" Unwrapping a block of chocolate, Ron plopped it into a bowl and used his wand to melt it… and the bowl.

"If that's your definition of a wizard, I'll gladly not be one." Harry smirked, as Ron attempted to salvage the mess by scraping the chocolate into his mixing bowl, little plastic bits and all.

Taking up a wooden spoon and stirring madly, Ron grinned at the contents of the bowl. "There, that's not so bad."

"Really?" Harry stuck his finger into the bowl for a taste.

Ron's spoon crashed down on his knuckles with a thud. "Keep your grubby paws out of my cake."

Licking the mixture off one finger, Harry spit. "Merlin, that's wretched!" Insecurity and disappointment flickered across Ron's face, and Harry was instantly sorry… though the cake mix really was terrible. Ron tossed the bowl onto the counter, and Harry dipped his fingers back in. "Sorry, mate. It's not so bad, really. Maybe if we just add a few more things it'll taste better and—"

Jerking the bowl away, Ron squished his hand down into the batter and brought it back up, smearing it over Harry's face, covering his glasses, nose and mouth in the chocolate goo. Stunned speechless, Harry just stood there. "Well, I feel better, anyway," Ron said, turning away. "I'll just Apparate to Hogsmeade and see if I can sweet talk Rosemerta into baking me up a birthday cake and—"

"Feel better, do you?" Harry interrupted, dumping the contents that remained in the bowl over Ron's head. He stood back and grinned. "Hm. Now we both feel better. You look rather good chocolate-covered, mate."

Harry squealed when Ron grabbed him by the scruff forcing him closer, tilting his chin up and sliding a chocolate-coated finger across his lips. Ron's tongue followed suit making Ron spit and sputter. "Oh fuck, that really is bad."

Too late to pull back now. Harry twisted his fingers in Ron's chocolate hair and kissed him. "Not so bad when I'm licking it from your skin," Harry said, kissing Ron again and pressing hard against him.

"Maybe I should try it again," Ron responded, struggling to free his cock as he pushed Harry against the counter. He stripped off his own trousers and pants, and wasted no time with Harry's zip, simply yanking at his trousers and sending the button flying across the room to land with a ting somewhere unknown as he wiggled them down Harry's hips and went down on his knees before him.

"There's no chocolate on my cock, Ron."

"I can fix that." Grasping Harry's cock he smeared chocolate from base to tip and took him into his mouth.

"Is it better that way?" Harry gasped out the words as Ron's tongue slid over the tip of his cock.

"Mmm, delicious." Ron made a show of licking his lips again before taking Harry's cock between them.

"Really?"

"No, it's still terrible, but you're spoiling the mood. Shut it."

Harry canted his hips, thrusting into the ecstasy of Ron's warm mouth as the pressure on his cock increased, and Ron's tongue licked and teased him.

"OH FOR HEAVEN'S SAKE!"

They both jumped at the sound of Molly's voice. So caught up in what they were doing to each other, they hadn't heard Ron's parents come home.

"Arthur," she shouted. "The next wards that go up on my kitchen had best ban them all. Do you hear me? Every last one of them. The things they think they can do in my kitchen." She snorted in protest. "All of the rooms in this house and—I mean, how many beds do we have here, Arthur?"

Mr. Weasley put a hand on his wife's shoulder in an attempt to calm her. "Several, dear. Several beds." He looked at the floor, the ceiling, anywhere but at the two half-naked boys in his wife's kitchen. Molly wasn't so discreet.

"Yet, every time it's here in MY kitchen. Mine, do you hear me, boys? MINE. What part of that do you not understand?"

"We understand, Mum. I mean, we're not idiots."

Molly grabbed the wooden spoon from the counter and swatted Ron's bare arse rather viciously with it. "I think, Ronald Weasley, that is debatable at this moment." Another blow landed on Ron's other cheek and sent him grappling to cover himself.

"Now," she said wielding the spoon as a weapon. (They both backed up against the counter in an attempt to shield their bums.) "You—the both of you—are going to clean my kitchen from top to bottom until it shines—"

"But Mum, it's Hermione's birthday and—"

The spoon cracked down on Ron's upper thigh, missing his cock by mere inches. He hushed. "Don't you interrupt me, young man. This kitchen had best be sparkling when I get back."

~*~

Hermione came out of the kitchen giggling and sat down next to Mrs. Weasley on the sofa. "I think you made quite an impression."

"Did I now?" she asked, a smile twitching at the corner of her mouth. She never looked up, just kept knitting the jumper that lay across her lap.

"I can't believe you took their wands and clothes and made them clean the entire kitchen starkers."

The twitching increased. "They had chocolate on their clothes. I didn't want that dripping on my clean floor now, did I? Seemed to defeat the purpose of having them clean it, if it was only going to get chocolate on it again from their clothes."

"Well, you could have used a _Scourgify_, which you well know."

Mrs. Weasley winked at her. "What fun would that have been?"

Hermione attempted to stifle her laughter.

"How was your birthday, dear?" Mrs. Weasley asked politely.

"I think memorable best sums it up." She leaned in and whispered, "Thank you."

Patting her arm, Mrs. Weasley asked in conspiratorial fashion. "Did you get a picture?"

"Absolutely," she replied, removing the camera from her pocket just a fraction so Ron's mother could see it. "Through the kitchen window just like you asked me to. May I ask what you plan to do with it?"

"I'm thinking that my Christmas cards this year will be rather adult in nature."

"You're my hero," Hermione whispered. "But you wouldn't really, would you?"

Grinning like a Cheshire cat, Mrs. Weasley said, "Well, maybe just one to Ron and Harry. It won't hurt them to stew a bit thinking that I might have sent one to everyone else, and then I can guarantee that at least those two will stay out of my kitchen."

Pondering as she grinned, Hermione started back to the kitchen to return their clothes and wands, then turned to face Mrs. Weasley once more. "Do you think I might get one of those too? I'm sure I can use it for something later."

"Of course, dear. You're aware, I assume, that Arthur caught them shagging on your desk at the Ministry just last month."

Shocked, she gasped and used her wand to vanish their clothes. "RON! HARRY! I'm going to shove these wands so far up your bums that—"

"Careful, dear. I feel certain they'd enjoy that." Molly sniggered as Hermione turned away red-faced with anger.

Fin.

_A/N: Originally written for the 2009 hprwfqf on Live Journal for the prompt Harry and Ron bake Hermione a birthday cake._


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